In memory of Robert Fitzgerald Uniacke, rector of St. George's, Halifax [microform] : a tribute of respect and love from his much attached friend and former curate George W. Hill, rector of St. Paul's, preached in St. George's Church, Sunday, June 5, 1870

PUBLISHED BY REQUEST.

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Iu Memory

OF

ROBERT FITZGERALD UNIACKE,

RECTOR OF ST. GEORGH’S, HALIFAX

A

Gribute of Hespect and Glove |
From his much attached friend and former Curate,

GEORGE W. HILL.

Kector of St. Paul's,

Pueached in St. George's Church,
SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 1870.

PRIN“ED BY BLACKADAR BROTHERS.

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OF

-ROBERT FITZGERALD UNIAGKE,

RECTOR OF SI. GHORGH’S, HALIFAX!

A

iy Eribute of Respect and dove

F,om his much attached friend and former Curate,

GEORGE W. HILE,

Rector of St. Paul's,

Preached in St. George's Church,
SUNDAY, JUNE 5, 1870.

PRINTED BY BLACKADAR BROT EKS

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“A prayer of Moses the man of God’”— so reads
the title of the Psalm. Let us, my Brethren, assume
this statement to be authentic, and therefore that
those, who placed the brief preface where it is, had
good reason for. attributing the authorship of this
funerai dirge to one who lived long anterior to that
royal poet who is styled “ the sweet singer of Israel,”
When read with the knowledge of its having been
composed by the old laweiver,—and probably just
towards the close of the forty years’ wandering in
the wilderness,—it is invested with additional power
and with a pathos deeply touching. All the thoughts
are manifestly the product of a retrospect of the long
and eventful past. He was a man of venerable age
when he entered upon the duties of that arduous office
which had been assigned to him hy God,—of leading
out from the land of Keypt the oppressed children of
Israel. Highty summers had passed over him when
he suddenly appeared in the palace of the Pharoahs’,
and with the voice of authority demanded the liberty
of his enslaved countrymen. Full forty years he had
been an exile and an outlaw: that old story of his
killing the Egyptian and burying him in the sand,——
which had been the cause of his Hight and long ab-
sence,—was in all probability well nigh forgotten, or
perchance, but few knew anything of it save as a dim
tradition come down from the preceding generation—
all or most of whom must have passed away. With-
out warning he appeared as an ambassador in the
Royal Court; his-mission was of the first importance,

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4

the world ever saw—a nation of untutored serfs—taen
whose better feelings and higher sensibilities had

lowest instincts and grossest passions had been foster-
ed by that sensual life which alone was open to them;
a nation without a country, “ no, not so much as to
“set their foot on.” There, out in that ‘waste, howl-
ing wilderness,” were gathered the great horde, and
he responsible for the support, the protection, the
management and the guidance of them all, But,
“ strong in the Lord and in the power of his might”
he was nerved to the arduous task, and for forty years
he wisely and bravely went in and out among that
ereat people. We all know the events and incidents
of that unparalleled journey ; the murmurings and
rebellions, the complaints and quarrelings. , Hight
times did the dissatisfied tribes rise in mutiny against
the law-giver, and eight times were they visited with
punishment for their ingratitude and distrust

Among these events there was one of asignal nature

which marked their career from the beginning. TH
repeated itself every day. Because of their unwill-
ingness to go up and take possession of the promised
land, the sentence of death, to be executed within a
given period, was passed by God on the rebellious

and his power was irresistible—he was the messenger
of the Almighty—as the sure result to him who bare
such credentials, his purpose was speedily atttained.
One morning he stood at the head of more than halt
a million of men in the vigor of life; men inured to
toil and want, but ignorant, sensual, and wayward,
The Red Sea within a few hours engulfed their old
master and that great army with which he followed
in hot haste the fugitives. The Rubicon was passed.
Moses was the chief of a nation—the strangest nation

been crushed out of them by oppression,—whose

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5)

host. Not one who had reached maturity, save the
tribe of Levi, which came to Moses’ assistance in the
matter of the golden calf, and those two ‘ruthful spies,
Joshua and Caleb, ever saw the fertile hills and val-
leys of Palestine. When the tribes reached at last
the border of that country, what wondrous changes
had occurred! What a picture of the past for the
aged soldier, statesman and servant of God to look
back upon! What aseries of dissolving views must
have passed in rapid succession before his mind!
Besides those first forty years of his life spent in the
abode of royalty, and the second like period of time
spent in the solitude of an obscure pasture land, there
was this last era in his curiously contrasted course
spent in the vast plain which rolled far away on
every side of Mount Sinai. Two score years he had
heen marching hither and thither over this trackless,
wind-swept desert—legislator, counseller, judge and
saptain—commander in chief of a great army, ab-
solute lawgiver, from whom there was no appeal save
to the King Invisible. When, nearing the end of his
period of control and of his own existence, he took a
review of the past, what a crowd of saddening, sol-
emnisinge thoughts must have rushed in upon his
memory! Even of those with whom he had heen
associated during the latter section of his lengthened
career how few were left. [lis cotemporaries were
vone. His nearest friends had left their bones in
some spot of the dreary barren—and long ere he and
the tribes had reached the border line, the shifting
sands had borne away all trace of their last resting
places. Aaron, his brother, and Mirian, his sister,
had struck their tents lor ever. All the middle-aged
and old men had departed, and even many quite
young when they set out for the premised land,

6

sickened and died. Place and people—all had
changed—there was nought abiding, ali was transitory
—<all save Him who changeth not—the Eternal God.
Looking back on these vicissitudes, the venerable
man, witha mind surcharged with mournful reflections
gave vent to his feelings on the mutability of earthly
things by turning heart and thought to Him who alone
remained unchanged,—* Lord, thou hast been our
dwelling place in all generations.” He and the
Israelites whom he had led had no certain dwelling
place for years. The camp was removed incessantly,
and at 2 moment’s notice from the meving cloud by
day, or pillar of fire by night. The wilderness was
not a dwelling place, it was a mere lodging place for a
time, an inn on the highway, a temporary halting.
ground for pilgrims. A faithful Hebrew looked up
from the sands below to the God above—tHis faithful-
ness, as He Himself, had never changed; Ie was “the
same yesterday, to-day and forever.” So speaking for
himself and for all who like himself were true
believers, the man of God uttered in a burst of confi-
dence the sublime apostrophe, Lord, Thou hast
been our dwelling place in all generations.” God Him-
self was “Tis portion and his exceeding great
reward.’ Where God dwelt he would dwell, yea!
God should ever be, and then was, his heart’s home.
Weary and worn and travelstained—no earthly land in
prospect,—sinee he knew that he could not enter
Canaan—his rest was with his father-—He had no spot
here that he could cal! his home, but the Lord had been
more than a substitute for cities and homes.
~~ The text reads, “in all generations ;” the margin
reads, “in generation and generation.” It is thought
hy some, and reasonably so, that the writer by this
expression is specifically referring to the faet of ui

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.
that particular generation which came out of Egypt,
having passed away and having been succeeded by
another. This vast host of responsible beings having
thus been removed during this brief space of time,
leads him to think of God's immutability, that though
the six hundred thousand had died, He still lived who
had been living from Eternity. Thus he goes on to
say: ‘* Before the mountains were brought forth, or
even thou hadst formed the earth, even from everlast-
ing to everlasting thou art God.” How different were
the creatures of His hand! their years were in His
keeping to lengthen or curtail them. ‘Thou turnest
nan to destruction ; and sayest, return, ye children of
inen.” When dust returned to its dust it was at His
bidding, and thus he adds, that even though man should
live, as in the beginning, for a thousand years, the
period was, in God’s sight, b..c as yesterday when it is
past; or brief as the fleeting watch of three hours in
the night which glides away while men sleep. Having’
once touched on this feature of human existence, the
Psalmist dwells upon it, producing in quick succession
one inetaphor after another. Men, he says, are swept
off the carth as by a flood which bears with resistless
force all before it; their life is as a sleep, or as the
grass of the field flourishing in the morning, cut down
und withering in the evening ; or as a tale that is told.
Such are the figures by which the author of the sacred

song represents the shortness of life on earth Look-

ing sadly on the past, ard feeling like one left alone by
ul his comrades,—-gathering up the details of the long
story into a narrow compass---the brevity of man’s life
—he turms from earth to heaven, from mortals who die
to the immortal who cannot die, and offers up the
earnest prayer, “So teach us to number our days that
We may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”

This then

8

Brethren, is the practical lesson. So teach us from
these and like events to see the small number of our
days, that we may be led thereby to seek that wisdom
which alone can make us wise unto salvation. It is
one thing to know as a fact, that life is short,—quite
another thing to make a right use of that knowledge.
The end of learning the rapidity with which this exist-
cnee rolls away is not to sentimentalise and romance,
not to draw in graphic colour poetic pictures, not to
indulge in dreamy reveries of the past; it is that we
may “apply our hearts unto wisdom,’ that like the
lawgiver of Israel our one aim may be to obtain the
wisdom which cometh down from above, and which,
because emanating from God, can never fail to guide
through the tortuous, tangled web of this lower life
and safely lead through that dark valley over which
Death throws his gloomy, sombre shadow.

Such a prayer is not offered in vain, Since Moses’
day many a one has presented at the mercy seat the
same petition, and received, as he, a gracious answer,
—traversing the world in the “light of life’ until
“travelling days were done.” “A prayer of Moses,
the man of God.” Was it not the prayer of another
father in Isracl to whose guidance we have tor forty
years been wont to look up?’—of another “man of
God?” of another leader of the sacramental host of
the elect? Full of years and of honors,----of honors
ot of this world, for he neither sought nov wished for
rank or title, even within his own chosen sphere----but
of honors in Christ’s living Church, of souls converted
und believers edified, your friend and mine, the dear
old father of his flock has gone down to his grave.
Ina good old age he in his turn has been gathered to
his fathers “like as a shock of corn cometh in in his
season.’ Like Moses he could not take his people

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4)

the promised land; for like Moses he must die and
leave that to our Joshua, even Jesus Himself. None
but Christ can save, and this none knew better than
your beloved Rector, and none more clearly and un-
equivocally and incessantly proclaimed the eternal
truth----that there is none other name given under
Heaven among men whereby we can be saved than the
name of Jesus Christ. Most consistent was his career
from the beginning to the end as to the doctrines which
he held and taught. The great cardinal truths of
Christianity were ever unvaringly proclaimed and
warmly defended by him. To original sin, justifica-
tion by faith, sanctification by the spirit, the positive
certainty of faith producing holiness, the absolute ne-
cescity of the justified sinner living in the constant
use of the means of grace,—in prayer, in the study of
the divine word, in attendance upon all God’s ordin-
ances,—his house, the table of the Lord; to these and
their kindred doctrines he adhered with a firmness
which no time nor circumstance nor influence could
weaken, he held them with a grasp strong as a giant's,
he retained them as with an iron vice.

Very early in life he was deeply nnpressed by some
sermors which were preached in St. Paul’s Church by
a Minister who, though not connected with the Pa-
vish, frequently officiated there. The Gospel Mes-
sage, as delivered by this servant of God, so affected
him that he retired to lis own room for reflection
and prayer. There, separated from the outer world,
having entered into his closet and shut to his door
and prayed to his Father which seeth in seeret, his
Father rewarded him openly. There the Lord opened
his heart, and he believed. This was in the very
beginning of his manhood, in the strong spring-tide

* Rev. Isaac Temple, Tutor to Lord Dalhousie,

10

of life, when he was surrounded by powerful tempta-
tions from without, and when he had already com-
menced his studies for the legal profession. So strong
and abiding was the influence of these new born feel-
ings over his own soul, that he determined to aban-
don the study of the law and devote himself to the
ministry of the Church of Christ. The time for his
ordination arrived, and proceeding to England
whither he went, because of the absence of Bishop
Stanser from this Diocese, he was ordained in London
and immediately appointed to a curacy in one of the
Southern Counties where he sought to serve his
chosen Lord and Master, among a rural population—
preaching the Gospel of our blessed Saviour in tke
little village of Fishbourne, not far from Chichester.
Time and again has he told me the tale of his early
ministerial course in that picturesque and retired
scene. With fondest feelings he would revert to his
old friends and his former associations;—often rela-
ting the stand which by God’s grace he was enabled
in his youth to take with regard to the British and
Foreign Bible Society, of which, as you are aware,
he was, in this Province, the honored President for
some years past. There had been a warm contro-
versy in those days concerning this God-blessed Insti-
tution, and such was the extraordinary, unaccounta-
ble view maintained by men holding high positions
in the ecclesiastical establishment, that they looked
with marked disapprobation on this noble organiza-
tion for disseminating the Sacred Scriptures. Into
the strange reasons which influenced these people we
need not enter; happily, the view then taken in Eng-
land has long since been discarded by their succes-
sors. But so strong was the objection then enter-
tained that his triends warned the young Curate that

ul tempta-
ady com-
So strong
born feel-
to aban-
If to the
1e for his
England
f Bishop
b London
1e of the
erve his
uation—
r in the
ichester,
Lis early
retired
rt to his
ten rela-
enabled
tish and
e aware,
dent for
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’ looked
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Into
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ite that

1]

if he joined the Society the act would bring him into
disfavor with those in power, and would be likely to
damage his future prospects. Then it was that the
well-defined, unmistakeable principles which he had
adopted came into action, the identical principles
which in later life were so fully developed. He took
his stand upon the Bratz, God’s written word. That,
he believed, was the most precious gift which could
be presented to his fellow-men, and to circulate that
word he felt to be at once an honor and a duty.
Whoever reverenced and loved that precious volume
which told perishing men of the way of life through
Jesus Christ, were his brethren, and with all these he
resolved, at all hazards, to unite, in order that he
might help to send forth its life-giving truths to the
far-off regions of the earth. Little recked he the
consequence when God called him to the work—

“ Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour;
Far other views his heart had learned to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.”

Thus, Brethren, with colors unfurled, he began
his career, and thus he continued to the end.

Tn the course of two or three years circumstances
opened the door for him to return and preach the
Gospel in the land which gave him birth, and which
he soardently loved. He was in the first full strength
of young life, when in 1825 he entered upon the du-
ties, the cares and the pleasures of a Ministerial life,
as the Rector of this important Parish. At once he
began with vigor to organize Sunday and Day
Schools, inaugurating, in a systematic manner, means
of Education, both religious and secular, for the chil-
dren of the poor and the thoughtless,—to institute
various devotional services, which might tend to pro-
mote the spiritual welfare of those committed to his

12

charge. Well do I remember, when yet a mere lad,
hearing a conversation between two old gentlemen,
who, with myself, were storm-staid at Windsor one
dark, wintry day,—and listening with great interest
to what they were sayinge—“ that the change which
had been effected in the North End of the town,
through Mr. Uniacke’s instrumentality, had been

very wonderful.” Especially, did they speak of

the good which had been done among the children.
At that time, IT had never, te my knowledge,
seen the Rector, having spent much o! my youth
in the country; but the conversation of these two
worthy men laid the foundation of my respect for
him, and has ever remained fresh in my memory.

It is not probable that more than two or three per-
sons are now living who can accurately remember the
condition of this sacred edifice when he assumed
charge. It was not as it is now; but in a rough and
unfinished state. He entered with zeal into its comple-
tion, repair and enlargement. A friendly people
strengthened his hands; the work progressed; church
and school room were soon fitted for the accommodation
of worshippers and pupils. God prospered him, Full
of zeal and endued with physical strength, he went
through the length and breadth of his allotted field,—by
day and night attending to the spiritual wants of his
people. Suddenly that frightful disease, the Asiatic
Cholera, broke out in the town with malignant fury and
resistless power. Immediately, he girded himself to
meet the foe. As when that terrible scourge, the small-
pox, visited the city a short time previously, his own
house and stable had been converted into an hospital
for the reception of its numerous victims, so now the
one became the resort for medicinal relief of those at-
tacked by this dreadful sickness, and the other

mere lad,
gentlemen,
indsor one
at interest
nge which
the town,
had been
speak of
» children.
nowledge,
my youth
these two
espect for
emory,.
three per-
ember the
assumed
rough and
its comple-
ly people
1; church
modation
im, Full

, he went
ield,——by
ants of his
e Asiatic
‘fury and
imself to
che small-
his own
hospital
now the
hose at-

e- other

J,

15

the common receptacle for every article of cloth-
ing and bedding needful to the comfort of the poor and
friendless as they lay ill and suffering. At once he
rose equal to the emergency of being a physician and
nurse, as well as a minister in holy things—to learn, as
by instinct, how to minister to the body as well as to
the soul. Fearless and tireless he went up and down
the streets, entering this house and that; by the light
of his lantern penetrating into garret, cellar and coutt-
yard—administering under the physician's directions
the needful medicine, and then pointing the sufferer to
the “Lamb of God that taketh away the sins of the
world :”
“ Beside the bed where parting life was laid,

And sorrow, guilt and pains by turns dismayed,

The reverend champion stood, At his control

Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul,

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.”

In the course of a few years he was visited with
an attack of Bronchitis, which was so alarming, as to
compel him to cease for a time from active duty. He
then paid a visit to England and returned, after a short
sojourn in that country, somewhat improved. Itwould
not on this occasion be possible to enter into all the
particulars of his ministerial life after his resumption
of parochial duties. Permit me, my old old friends and
Parishioners, to refer to that period of time in which
T hecame intimately acquainted with him and you, and
to a most important part of my life indissolubly
hound up with his and yours. At the close of the year
1847 T was invited by him to become the Curate of
this Parish. The appointment was gladly accepted,
and in the last month of the year I was in this sacred
building set apsrt for the work of an Evangelist. He
welcomed me with a Father’s greeting, and fer well
nigh seven years he treated me with a Father’s love.

14

Tn looking over that long space of time, one unbroke
scene of friendship appears. Only once can I rementreated
ber his passing censure on some act of mine connectearose,
with the management of the Sunday School, and thifirm, 1
was so trifling and insignificant that he entirely forgevang
it, and only a few weeks ago—almost the last time
saw him—he referred to these pleasant seven years opositi
love and harmony, saying, that he could not recall spirit
single unpleasant word or act between us. Happ hilari
were the days we spent together; intimate in soci, humo
and ministerial life and unitedly holding the lamp o —Ih
truth for those around us. and w
The late Rector of this Parish was a man of his ow of hi
type. He held a position peculiarly his own—bot! Upo?
among his brethren of the ministry and his fellow citi dignt
zens. He was himself and no one else. Strong in hi comm
convictions, he was immovable as a rock, Thoroughly that
evangelical in his views, he ever openly avowed them, Who
Nothing could tempt him to swerve from the lin img i
marked out, as he believed, by the word of God ani Ve
confirmed by the Articles, the Liturgy and the Homilie: fami
of our church to which, as you must well remember the
he constantly referred; indeed, more frequently than thin
any clergyman with whose public ministrations I am tor's
acquainted. On the grand verities of the Revelatioy h
of God to man he was as immovable as he was clear 204
Whether the tide flowed or ebbed, whether the storm !ué
raged or the sun shone, there stood the rock. Neitha ©
tempest nor calm weather made a difference. Fearant chi
favour were alike to him; he had built his faith and 8
doctrine on Him who was the true Rock, even the Rock tru
of ages.. If, occasionally, he seemed by his inborn $0)
kindness of feeling to others to compromise his own — his
views, one only had to hear him afterward express ste
his opinions either.to those whom he had generously ™

ies)

one unbroke

15

can I rementreated, or to the public when the next opportunity

ine connectearose, when they were sure to learn that he Was as

ool, and thdirm, if not firmer, than ever in his hold of distinctive
/A1 : ‘

ntirely forgcevangelical principles.

e last time

By nature he was gifted with a most cheerful dis-

iti r aus ¢ th even to the last, his
ven years cposition—buoyant as a you mien
shad spirits often rose to the highest point.of legitimate

us,
ate in socis
} the lamp «

n of his ow
S own—bot!
is fellow citi
Strong in hi

Thoroughh
vowed them,
‘om the lin
lof God ani
the Homilie
ll remember
quently than
rations T an
> Revelation
le was clear
r the storm
k. Neither
2, Fearand
is faith and
on the Rock
his inborn
se his own
rd express
generously

his observations made.

Happ hilarity, and such was his innate talent for purest

humor that there is scarcely a person in the community

—I had almost said, the country—who does not now,
and will not hereafter, remember more sayings than one

of his which shall cause an involuntary smile to play

upon the face. Often have I seen him ae
dignified, and proudly indignant, aut the rect u, eS
commission of moral wrong; but it was rare nee

that his feelings obtained the mastery of his judgment.
Who can forget the dear, kindly old man, oan
ing into our houses as if they were his own, and yet
ever remembering that he was a guest is One of the
family he felt himself to be, but never EERE nt
the position of the host, nor assumed to learn oad
thing which came not within the limits of the ase
tor’s office. How cheerily he spoke to our children,
as he took them on his knee and drew ner the fire ;
and how, though he made them smile and loudly
laugh, and grow good-humored with some merry tale,
or with the graphic recital of some scene of his early
childhood, he invariably took advantage of having
gained their friendship by telling them some solemn
truth, at which their young faces changed {rom ay
to grave, and evidenced the deep impression which
Who of us will forget that

stately, king-like form, whose presence of itself com-
manded silence and respect, when he entered the
He could be cheer-

chamber of sickness or death ?

16

ful, light-hearted and joyous as a child; but when
the hour of trial and bereavement came, no manner
more profoundly solemn, no countenance more stern-
ly grave, no tongue more fully gifted to utter the words,
and apply the promises of Christ. re old age and de-
clining health came upon him, who of you, my Bre-
thren, did not feel that it was a friend and father
who crossed your threshold when he went to visit
you; and though you sometimes found fault with
him, it was fault-finding which cheered his genial
heart,—the fault of his not coming oftener to your
homes.

And how God blessed him in his work. Well nigh
half a century he labored in the field. What are the
results? Some are known, others are unknown. But,
first, there are the souls converted to God under his
ministry—how many we shall not learn until the day
when all secrets are disclosed; but we dare not doubt
that the number is large, for he was, emphatically, a
preacher of the pure Gospel of the grace of God. He
knew nothing, but Jesus Christ and Him crucified
as the foundation of the sinner’s hope. ‘Then, how

many of the body of Christ he edified, how many of

the saints he perfected, how many believers he built
up in their most holy faith, let many still living bear
witness, aS many who have gone hence long since tes-
tified. Look at the Parish as to its material condition.
Here is this old Church that he loved so well bearing
to-day the mark of being under the care of one who
felt it a duty and pleasure to see all in God’s house
“done decently and in order.” At the Village near
by is that quiet, plain and simple sanctuary, with its
accompanying school house, standing in the midst of
the peaceful church-yard where two days ago we laid
him down to rest until the glorious Resurrection. At

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17
Lakelands, near Mount Uniacke, another Church
appears which he felt himself called upon to lend his,
aid in building, because of his connection with the
neighborhood through his ownership of valuable pro-
perty. He gave spiritual things for carnal. At
Richmond his last great work of faith and labor of
5

love stands as w monument to that zeal and liberality
which characterized him from youth to old age. His
head, his heart, his means, were given to the work
which God assigned him. May many souls find each
of these to be none other than a house of God and a
gate to Heaven. To you, my Brethren, who are
assembled each Lord’s Day within the walls of this
sacred place, it will be iong before the outline of his
noble form and solemn countenance will in the least
fade from memory.

At Church, with meek and unaffected grace,

His looks adorned the venerable place ;

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,

And fools, who came to scofl, remained to pray.
The service past + Rat RE \
Even children follow’d, with endearing wi!s,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man’s smile,
His ready sinile a parent's warmth exprest;
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given ;
But all bis serious thoughts had rest in Heaven,
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storni,
Though round its breast the rolling clonds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”

Was it not thus with our loved and honored
friend’? Whatever his cares, his griets, his pleasures,
all his innermost, ruling, governing thoughts were
concerning Christ and His Church. Any one who
really knew him saw this clearly; and those who:
knew him best saw it most. No matter how far off

his thoughts might seem to be, a sudden turn was
given by him to the subject under discussion, which

18

proved what was the prevailing sentiment,—-the
underlying principle,x—whieh ever actuated him,
The revealed verities of Christianity, the great eter-
nities of Heaven and Hell were the controlling
‘thoughts of his mind,

During his last illness, believe me, my friends, he
was thoroughly absorbed with anxious thoughts con-
cerning you. His Parish and its welfare were the
topics of his conversation. Sce him when | would,
miserable, weak and oppressed as he was, he talked
with deep earnestness on your interests, and discussed
with eagerness and intense anxiety your prospects
when in the good Providence of God he should be
culled away. He appeared to utterly lose sight of
self, and to be pre-occupied with care for you. How
pleased, how more than simply pleased, you must
now be, at having sent to him a few days ago that
affectionate address of sympathy with which to cheer
and comfort his closing course. It was wisely as it
was lovingly done; not waiting to say what you
thought and felt after death had closed his ears and
shut his eyes, and stopped the pulses of his warm
heart, so that he could know nothing of those strong
emotions which impelled you to give them form,
You must be gladdened to know that he was greatly
vratified, and that though he did not, as he said, need
your expression of feeling as a proof of your love, he
hailed the warm loving words with sincerest delight.

At this time he was visibly sinking; loss of appe-
tite, and long-continued painful fits of excessive
voughing were day by day exhausting his remaining
strength, insomuch that he was unable to see and
wonverse with any of his friends outside of the circle
immediately around him. As he grew weaker and
drew nearer the confines of the world to come, he

manif
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friends, he
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19

manifested the same deep humility and simple faith
in Jesus which characterized him through life. The
frequent confession of his own sinfulness and utter
unworthiness found vent in the prayer which in days
past he was wont to present at the throne of Grace—
*€ Lord, have mercy upon me a miserable sinner,” But
while thus feeling and acknowledging his sins, and
“having no confidence in the flesh” he rejoiced in
Christ Jesus—just in proportion as he saw his own
nothingness so he saw Christs all-sufficiency—at a
moment of comparative freedom from pain he turned
to a relative standing near and recited with emphasis
that blessed text as the one foundation of his hope
—“ The blood of Jesus Christ His son cleanseth us
from all sin.” When almost too weak to utter words
he broke the silence of the night watches with as
much of the well known verse as his failing powers
would permit him to repeat, ‘‘ The lamb of God” and
added in tones of comfort and trust the last words
that he spoke on earth, ‘To whom else should I
look now?” That reassuring address of our blessed
Lord, “It is I, be not afraid,’ had for some weeks
past been much upon his mind; and on his alluding
some time previously to the passage, these comforting
words were repeated to him: “ And the Lord he it is
that doth go before thee; He will be with thee; He
will not fail thee, neither forsake thee, fear not, nei-
her be dismayed,’ when immediately he added,
¢And behind me,” doubtless thinking cf some such
verse as that in the Psalm, “ As the mountains are
‘ound about Jerusalem, so the Lord is reund about

118 people from henceforth, even for me.” Thus to
he end he retained the glorious truth, “ The Eternal

Hod is the refuge, and underneath arethe everlasting
wis.”

|
#

20

Long, dear Brethren, might we this morning dwell
on pleasing reminiscences of that venerable man
whose form was familiar to us as the scenery around
us, and whose voice as the ripple of the waters which
lave our shores. We might recall those features
of his character which so much contributed to that
geniality which he carried wherever he went; his
love for nature ; his gentleness towards all the brute
creation, and his carefulness that they should be
kindly treated; his admiration of all the works of
God in the forest and the field, You know how he
loved the trees, and planted them everywhere, watch-
ing their growth with the utmost interest, and think-
ing of the grateful shade they would offer to the little
children that he loved so well long years after he had
gone. May each of the thousands that he planted on
earth be an emblem of a tree of the Lord’s right hand
planting through him in the Paradise above !

The work is over. He is at home. The silver
chord is loosed, the golden bowl is broken, and the
mourners go about the streets because he has gone to
his long home. Dear Brethern, let him preach to you
now as he never preached before,—let his fresh grave
speak out the solemn warnings which he so often ut-
tered here, “Prepare to meet thy God.” “Set thine
house in order, for thou shalt die and not live.” Unbe-
levers! tho’ ye loved him for his own sake, ye did not
while he lived heed his invitation to come to Christ
and so love him for his master’s sake; recall his mes-
sage now—give your hearts and lives to that Jesus of
whom he preached, that ye may follow him whither he
has gone. Believers, forget not his counsel and his in-
struction. They were drawn from the pure word of
God—the well spring of the living water. Seek, as he
would haye you seek, the Holy spirit’s in-dweiling in

the he
and ni
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21

all be blessed indeed by his death

the heart. May ye he day when Cod makes up

and not one be wanting 10 { | shes ae
sured requiem P ?
is jewels : shall the sacred req
his jewels ; then sh quiet a
: oalizs eSSsC |
at his grave have its complete realization, 7
) , ae] A as ® 4 FP . Ro . ren,
ave the dead which die in the Lord from eats Ry
th the # r vest fre ir labors :
saith the spirit, that they may rest from then
and their works do follow them.

\PPENDIX.

The late Rector of St. George’s Parish, the Reverend
Robert Fitzgerald Uniacke, was the fourth son of the Hon.
tichard John Uniacke, for many years His Majesty’s
Attorney General in the Provi ince of Nova Scotia, and was
born and baptized in the Parish of St. Paul, Halifax, in the
year 1797, Ilis education was received under Dr. Wright,
ffead Master of the Grammar School in this town, the Rev.
William C. King, Principal of the Collegiate School, Wind.
sor, and under Drs. Porter and Cochran, respectively, Pre-
sident and Vice-President of the U niversity of King’s Col-

leee, Windsor, which institution he entered in the year 1814.
After passing through his Collegiate course, and taking his
degree, he began the study of the law in his father’s office,
but influenc ed by strong convictions that he was called to
the sacred ministry, he abandoned the idea of entering the
legal profession, and turned his attention to theology. The
Bishop of this Diocese being absent from the Province, Mr.
Uniacke proceeded to England, for the purpose of receiving
Ordination, This he speedily effected, On June 2nd, 1822,
he was admitted to Deacon’s orders, by the Bishop of Lon.
don, at the Chapel Royal, St. James's Palac ve, and on March
23rd, 1823, he was ordained Presbyter by the Bishop of
Chester. An appointment to a Curacy was accepted by
him, and he remained in England for several years, officia-
ting in the Churches of Fishbourne and Mid Lavent, little
V illages distant about a mile from Chichester, in the County
of Sussex. He was not destined, however, to labor as a
Minister of the Gospel in the old country. Circumstances
led to his return to his ns tee land ; and in 182
the duties of Pastor of St. George’s, which was soon erec-
ted into a Parish by an re of the Governor in Council.
In 1830 he was married to Miss Elizabeth G. Francklin,
daughter of James Boutineau Francklin, Nsq., and grand-

ds wehter of Michael Francklin, who was born in
Devonshire, England,

5 he assumed

Poole ;

Though Mr. Uniacke entered at avery early age upon
the responsible and onerous office of Rector of St. George's

he proved himself equal to the position. ‘The

he soon put it in order,

A school-room was built, and

Parish,
Church was in an unfinished state ;
and considerably enlarged it.

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23

he obtained a liberal grant of money from the Legislature
to pay the salaries of a master and mistress, thus ane fatite
throughhis exertionand influence, an alinost (ree ducation for
the children of the North End of the Town. The boys were
taught in the new school house, the girls in the ald German
Church. The Rectory was built at his suggestion, and it
erection made possible by a liberal offer from himself in re-
ference to the means. The Village Church, as it is usually

called, was the next object of his attention, and in 1844 it
was, through his unwearied efforts, begun and soon com-
pleted, and opened for public worship. In its immediate
neighborhood stands the school house, equally indebted to
him, a building in which he spent some of the happiest hours
of his life during that period of time in which it was prest-
ded over by the late lamented 'Thomas Wilson, whom he
appointed as master, and for whom he obtained from the
Colonial Church and School Society a yeurly allowance,
At Lakelands, near his own well-known property, the hos-
pitable Mount Uniacke, he was one of the foremost in the
building of that sacred edifice which stands on the old
highway between Windsor and Halifax; and those who
knew him well can testify how unceasing were his attempts
to secure for it the services of a clergyman, and how, when
he gained his point, both his house and his ptuse were open
for the Minister’s comfort and support. Near the Railway
Depot, at Richmond, stands St. Mark’s Chureh, built within
the last two or three years, for the accommodation of the
increasing population in that district. This really beauti-
ful, carefully built, well ordered Church, drew out his live-
licst interest. Te spared neither time nor pains to make i
worthy of its purpose, and finally wound up all his thought and
labor for it, by drawing out a cheque for some hundreds of
pounds, and paying every debt contracted. During this last
winter, when go ill that he could with difficulty talk or walk,
he set about the enlargement and repair of his first school
room, watching with delight its progress, and looking forward
with great pleasure to its completion. Only two days before
his spirit left its tabernacle he inquired cag rerly of the architect
“if ell were done,” and was anxious to settle the account.
Such were some of his public parochial acts. The record can
speak for itself. Of his connection with the Benevolent and
Religious Societies, of his own uae Visiting Society, and
Society for Missions to the heathen, of lis large- hearted sy
pathy with every good work inaugurated in “the city, of his
friendly co-opers ation with his brethren in the Ministr y, of what-
ever name, who held fast to the great cardinal doctrines of
Christianity, as summed »5 in the Apostle’ s Creed ; of his deep

24

iterest in the Protestant Orphans’ Home, and his zealous help
in maintaining and directing the Home for the Aged; of all
these we need not speak at length. Ilis name is blended with
them all by the work which he did. My. Uniacke preached
his last sermon in St. George’s Church, on Sunday, May 1st,
from one of those texts upon which he so delighted to dwell,
** Lam the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” So overcome was
he by the effort that it was with difficulty he went from the
Vestry to the Rectory. His disease, which was aggravated
Bronchitis, increased ; he lingered on until June the Ist, when
about midday he put off the mortal tabernacle,—was “ absent
from the body and present with the Lord.”

Hre I close this brief Memoir of one whom I so sincerely
loved,—-it will not be out of place to put on record one of the last
notes which he ever wrote, and which was addressed to a friend
in a time of domestic affliction. ‘True sympathy, love and
thoughtfulness are breathed throughout it. Nor was he con-
tent with this expression of kindly feeling, but, suffering and
debilitated as he was, exerted himself to come out and pay a
long visit to the house of mourning, the last visit which he ever
paid, an effort to carry consolation to those who were in sorrow.
The note will tell its own tale :

Wednesday, April 20th.

Dear Mr. Win1,—

[regret I cannot be with you on the trying occasion of

this morning, and perform the last sad office; but I was very
unwell yesterday and last night, and cannot venture out this
damp morning. There is one on High who will be with you and
Mrs. Ifill, and speak comfort to the weary-troubled spirit,
‘Peace, be still, itis I.” What a thought, “eternal glory,”
absent from the body with Christ, released from all the accu-
mulated trials of this sad world, taken from the * cyil to eome.’’
* Our light afliction but fora moment,” &c., &c. ODeath,
where is thy sting,” &c., &e., &e.

The sorrows of your hearts are enlarged ; may the light of a
Saviour’s everlasting love come in and disperse this passing
cloud. [re long, how soon, you and I and all of us will mingle
our dust in that hallowed spot, awaiting a joyful resurrection.

I must, if possible, help you on next Sabbath, perhaps at
night if strong enough. ind regards to Mrs. Ifill, and love
to the children, who will miss the little Lamb from the Fold,
now with Jesus in glory.

Affectionately yours,
R. F, UNLACKE,
The Rey. G. W. Hin.

seem emer

i

25

A week or two previous to his death his parishioners thought
fully presented him with the following address, rightly think-
ing that it would comfort and cheer him to be reassured of how
truly he lived in their hearts :

To the Rev. Robert Fitzgerald Uniacke, Rector of St. George’s :
REVEREND AND Dear Sir,—

We, the Church Wardens, Vestry, Pew Holders and
Parishioners of the Parish of Saint George, Halifax, desire to

express our united and very deep sympathy with you in your
present illness, which in the Providence of God confines you to

your sick chamber.

Many of us have been born and baptized during the period
of your long Rectorship (upwards of 45 years); others have
been married, and have brought up families, while many, near
aud dear to our hearts, who have listened to your faithful
preaching of the Gospel of Christ, who were brought to the
saving knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus, to whom you
have broken the bread of life, and been comforted by you in
the hour of sorrow and sickness, have passed from time into a
glorious eternity. These are things, Reverend and dear Sir,
which strongly endear you to us all, with the deep and tender
emotions of children to a father, and draw forth our warmest
feelings towards you in this the hour of your sickness and trial.

We hope it is unnecessary for us to give you this written
tribute of our respect, esteem, and sympathy ; but we are most
anxious that you should now be comforted with the same com-
fort that you have so affectionately and faithfully given to so
many of your congregation; and that you may have the assu-
rance that we will not cease to pray,—that he, in whose hands
are our times, may (if it be His will, and for your happiness
and His glory) raise you up again to continue your labors
amongst us, and that the strong consolations and support of the
“‘ Comforter” may never be absent from you.

We would also offer our respectful and affectionate regards
to your beloved, devoted and amiable lady, who lives in thehearts
cf the Congregsation.

We are, Reverend and dear Sir,
Respectfully and faithfully yours,
Signed by Warpens, VESTRY, AND PARISHIONERS.
Halifax, 14th May, 1870.

On June 8rd the venerable man was borne to his Jast resting
place, followed by almost the whole of the community. He
slecps beneath the Village Church, “awaiting a joyful
resurrection.”

G. W. H.

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